Seeing provisions in the window, Jack ventured in and bought a loaf. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. "So the wheelman told you? I've always spoken it, though I can neither read nor write it. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. ‘I was not born to this.
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